


we're not in kansas anymore (we're now in missouri)

by ceterum



Category: Ted Lasso (TV)
Genre: (and also Missouri), Gen, Kansas, POV Outsider, Post-Season/Series 01, Road Trips, Yuletide 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterum/pseuds/ceterum
Summary: Shortly after the devastating loss on final matchday, the West London’s Finest are back in action. After a compilation of their…innovativeplays goes viral, they are invited to play a friendly against Ted Lasso’s home state’s MLS club.AFC Richmond’s pre-season one(-and-a-half)-stop American tour, as observed by Trent Crimm, The Independent.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	we're not in kansas anymore (we're now in missouri)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treewishes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treewishes/gifts).



Once the plane finally takes off, Trent Crimm settles in his seat and takes a moment to review the series of events—both fortunate and unfortunate—that led him to this moment. 

Unfortunate: AFC Richmond’s devastating loss on final matchday. Fortunate: their unorthodox tactics going viral across the pond, covered by all the networks and late night show hosts. Unfortunate: a whole slew of unoriginal, repetitive jokes that followed, made by said late night show hosts, who also took the opportunity to declare superiority of their brand of football in a just-joking-but-not-really kind of way.

The newly relegated AFC Richmond didn’t hesitate to cash in on their newfound internet sensation status, accepting the invitation for a visit to Coach Lasso’s hometown, scheduled to culminate in a friendly match against Sporting Kansas City at the end of the week. Trent doesn’t blame them; they’re going to need all the help they can get now that they’re without Premier League money.

Which leads him to his current predicament: seated on the U.S.A.-bound plane chartered by the club for the occasion, strapped in for the ride as AFC Richmond start their pre-season one-stop American tour.

This has great potential to be either a valuable exercise in cross-cultural collaboration or a complete and utter disaster of international incident proportions. Either way, a good story for Trent. He’s already working on the first paragraph in his head: _Shortly after the heartbreaking loss on final matchday, AFC Richmond are back on their feet and embarking on a journey across the pond, in search of good publicity, new fans, and lucrative sponsorship opportunities to help them weather the long, cold winter in the Championship, and perhaps some much needed relief for the team’s broken spirit_.

No, that’s far too cumbersome, especially for his editor, who’s always got it in for Trent’s run-on sentences.

He’ll work on it.

Being stuck on a transatlantic flight, he’s got nothing but time. He and the two other members of the mighty Fourth Estate—sent to observe and report on this ambitious undertaking by the West London’s Finest—are sitting in the back, in their own little press corner. However, they haven't been explicitly told they aren’t allowed to venture out of their assigned seats. Trent has certainly never been the one to pass up an opportunity for a bit of reconnaissance. He checks the row behind him; Marcus and Lloyd are already fast asleep, propping each other up like a two-man cheerleader pyramid, blindfolded by matching sleep masks, which means this will be an exclusive. Even better. 

He slips out of his seat and heads to the front of the plane where the players are seated. There is a lot of uncertainty in the air these days regarding the club’s future; a few players have already been sold and some are looking for a transfer. Those who stay will have a tough season ahead of them. Even the captain is rumored to have one foot out the door. No official confirmation yet, and not many have dared to approach Kent with the question because he’s been biting journalist heads off left and right. Not that that’s unusual for the surly Richmond captain. 

As Trent makes his way down the aisle, he finds no trace of that uncertainty among the players, no prevailing atmosphere of doom one might expect. The only conflict seems to come from the players’ clashing music choices. Hughes and McAdoo are singing along to Drake’s newest song. A few rows down, Dani Rojas is banging his head to what sounds like Mumford and Sons. 

The goalkeepers are talking quietly among themselves, possibly discussing the weather, possibly plotting world domination. Trent wouldn’t put it past them; he’s always found goalkeepers to be slightly intimidating. They glance at him as he passes by but quickly decide he’s no threat and return to their conversation, paying no heed to him.

Further ahead, Obisanya seems to be fast asleep, head falling to one side, bulky headphones on. Across the aisle, Kent’s eyes are closed too, but his fingers are tapping the armrest in rhythm with the song leaking from his earbuds, not quite discernible.

Just as Trent approaches, Cockburn shakes his head at Kent and then turns in his seat to say to Reynolds, “He’s still listening to that Russian bloke wailing on repeat.” He shakes his head like there’s no hope for Kent.

“What?” Reynolds asks, confused.

“You know, the one from Eurovision a few years back.”

“It’s called artistic vision, you twats,” Kent says, not even bothering to open his eyes. His demeanor is unchanged, but his steely tone is all but daring his teammates to disagree.

One takes him up on it. Montlaur’s head pops up from the row behind, his pleased smile screaming trouble. “Say, _capitaine_ , when is the last time UK finished out of bottom three?”

“I don’t see the French winning either, so I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you,” Kent says, finally opening his eyes and turning to face his teammates. “When was the last time France won?”

Trent can help with this; he is somewhat of a Eurovision connoisseur himself. “Actually, I do believe it was in—”

“ _Nobody asked you, Trent_ ,” comes the scathing rebuke from the Richmond captain, followed by his teammates’ grins and chuckles. Trent can’t help but join them; it’s a pleasure to see the mighty Roy Kent have such a strong opinion about something so unexpected.

Naturally, that opinion spawns multiple simultaneous discussions, everybody speaking over each other. Montlaur retaliates by asking Kent why the UK insists on sending generic pop songs every year, and compares them to the country’s _offensively bland_ cuisine. Cockburn and Bumberbatch are weighing the importance of the so-called _real_ artistry, with Bumberbatch claiming that the entries are _supposed to be fun too, and not just screaming ballads, you pompous little prick_. A genuinely interested Rojas and an amused Zoreaux are subjected to Hughes’s tirade of how Norway was robbed in recent years.

“Fucking juries, mate. Where’s the will of the people?”

Only Obisanya remains in his seat, sleeping right through the clamor, blissfully unaware of the war raging around him.

“So, this Eurovision business,” Lasso says as he comes to Trent’s side, looking confused and mildly afraid. “Seems like a pretty big deal, huh?”

Trent shrugs. “It brings Europeans together.” 

Clearly unconvinced, Ted looks over at his team all up in arms over a seemingly innocuous annual singing competition, and wisely decides to stay out of it.

Less than half an hour into the tour, it’s clear they’re off to a great start. 

*

They reach their destination of Kansas City, not-Kansas-but-Missouri-even-though-it-sometimes- _is_ -Kansas. As they slowly prepare to get off the plane, Lasso assures the sea of puzzled, bleary-eyed faces that the geography makes perfect sense. Personally, Trent doesn’t see it yet, but that might be because his body isn’t working properly. It’s just past five am back home, not even midnight local time. It feels like they’ve somehow both lost and gained a whole day between the plane ride and the time difference, and the effect is disorienting. What’s important is that they can have a good night’s rest in a proper bed before the circus starts tomorrow. 

The hotel is close to the centre of the city, his room is adequate. Marcus and Lloyd are next door, Assistant Coach Shelley is somewhere down the hall. Trent unpacks his suitcase and messages his family so that they know he arrived safely, then sends a quick email update to his boss. He contemplates going down to the bar to ask the staff for local restaurant and sights recommendations, like he always does when he arrives in a new city. It’s late, but he slept a few hours on the plane, so he’s not too tired. Decision made, he steps out of his room—only to almost get mowed down by McAdoo pushing Hughes in what looks to be a laundry cart at breakneck speed down the hallway. Trent steps back into his room and closes the door. On second thought, he can do it tomorrow morning.

*

His plans are thwarted yet again.

They’re roused at dawn to drive out to the middle of nowhere. More precisely, Lasso announces—way too cheerfully for such an early hour—they’re off to Wichita, definitely-Kansas-this-time-and-not-Missouri. A day trip to the city eagerly awaiting the local hero’s return. Trent sighs and braces himself; he has an inkling there is much more cheer to come. 

They gather in the lobby; players slowly trickle in in groups of two or three. Trent is pretty sure McAdoo is still in his pajamas, though the ensemble could also easily pass for luxury loungewear. Marcus and Lloyd have their matching sleeping masks at the ready. 

Once all of Lasso’s ducklings are in a row, they make their way down the block to the coach that will take them to Wichita. It’s already hot outside; looks like the weather app Trent consulted in preparation for the tour wasn’t lying. Hot and humid summer, indeed. He hopes it doesn’t get much worse. 

He ends up sitting across the aisle from Coach Shelley. Somewhere on the seemingly endless, surprisingly straight, unbelievably flat road to Wichita, Shelley shows him a weather alert radio he purchased earlier this morning. It’s supposed to alert one when a watch or a warning is issued for the county one is in. But the chances of that happening today are low, Shelley tells him, and takes out a printed-out daily tornado frequency chart to support his argument. 

Someone is loudly snoring a few of rows behind. Marcus and Lloyd have asked Trent to wake them up if something interesting happens, in a tone that implies they don’t expect it to. They were right. Nothing but the flat road with no end in sight, blue sky, and trucks. So. Many. Trucks. It’s like they’re stuck in a truck commercial.

There’s green flatness as far as eye can see, and bright blue sky. The scene looks less real the longer Trent stares out of his window. So flat and disorientating that Trent is beginning to wonder if it can make you hallucinate like in the desert. 

Shelley moves on to the dangers of hailstorms.

*

As expected, Wichitans greet Lasso like a returning hero. A sizeable welcoming party is waiting for them as they arrive at the entrance to the Wichita State University campus, home of the Wichita Shockers. Lasso steps out to loud cheers, immediately gets enveloped into several hugs by guys in training gear. There is a even photographer present to document it all.

They're led on a short tour of the campus by an excited sports director and the current football coach who clearly has a lot of respect for Lasso and who even poses a few well-meaning questions about his new job, despite the obvious lack of knowledge about the sport he now coaches. As they make their way across the campus, it feels like every single person present comes up to shake Lasso’s hand. One student is brave enough to ask the beloved former coach to do the Lasso dance with him for Instagram. Lasso agrees, to absolutely no one’s surprise.

It’s like nobody even notices that there’s a group of about thirty men trailing after Lasso, miserable from the sun beating down on them with increasing intensity, the jet lag, and the feelings of wariness they harbor toward the treasured American sport on principle. 

Half way through, there’s an impromptu reunion between Lasso and some of his former players. They’re joined by the current Shockers, who are all loud and massive and beyond excited to meet the already legendary coach. Richmond players look on dubiously, but are quickly pulled into the ruckus by the curious, good-natured Americans. Trent himself is not spared; he gets more than one question about the Queen and no less than five hearty claps on the back from people he’s never met in his life. 

Once the reunion is finished and the photos are taken, they’re on their way again, and finally reach their destination—the sacred ground where Lasso secured the people of Wichita this great victory. The stadium has a track field and only two stands, but still greater capacity than Trent expected for a college-level football team. 

Not everyone is impressed. Roy takes one look at the place and declares—quite loudly—that this is making him long for Thursday nights spent playing obscure Eastern European clubs in the dead of winter. “Say what you want about their shit pitches, at least they know their footballs from their eggs.” 

McAdoo and Hughes nod their heads in agreement. All Trent can think of is that he could use some nice snow right now. It’s so hot outside. He loosens the tie and pushes his sleeves up higher. It makes absolutely no difference.

A local news crew is waiting for them on the field. It’s the first of what Trent expects to be many publicity stunts set up by the club. 

Lasso and Obisanya are interviewed by an insufferably cheerful reporter pair who clearly can’t stand each other, as evidenced by the way they turn their backs to each other and refuse to speak the moment the cameras are turned off. Still, even despite their obvious disdain for each other and the lack of understanding of the world’s most popular sport, they are undeterred in their quest to turn this simple assignment into a sensationalist, overly-produced morning news segment. They even somehow manage to shove in a sports equipment advertisement in between a couple of culturally-insensitive, borderline racist questions to Obisanya. All in the true spirit of American capitalism.

Oh, that’s good! Trent makes sure to write the exact wording down.

Further down the field, a producer is trying to get the players interested in the equipment, in preparation for a _football vs soccer_ segment that would have been innovative two decades ago—and that should really be titled _American_ football vs _actual_ football. 

The producer offers them the option of trying on the full kit and tackling each other. O’Brien and Zoreaux jump onto the opportunity to do so, with the sort of defiant lack of self-preservation he’s come to expect from all goalkeepers. To voluntarily stand in place while balls are kicked at them, they all have to be a bit mad in the first place anyway. 

On the other side, McAdoo is shaking a ball like it’s a Kinder Surprise Egg with a toy hidden inside. Montlaur reluctantly nudges one with his foot, eyeing it like it has personally offended his mother. 

After some consideration, Kent picks a ball up and hurls it at his coach with impressive force. Lasso catches it at the last moment with ease, flashes the captain a pleased grin. Trent can see Lasso’s thought process as clearly as if it were written in a speech bubble above his head: _Ooh, you thought you got me there, mister. Well, think again_. Lasso breaks into a sprint and tackles a comically startled Kent onto a practice mat, while other players cheer and laugh. 

And then they all join in.

Trent shakes his head and leaves the team to it, gaze searching out someone to interview. After a short conversation with the football coach and learning he’s a Wichita native, Trent asks him about his hometown and gets an unexpectedly profound answer. “Pardon me if I'm speaking out of turn, but I think I know how you'll perceive Wichita. You'll probably dislike the restaurants you go to here and consider the attractions and scenery corny. But the very best part of Wichita is that everyone here is kind of a family. And you only start to realize that after a few months here, when you notice yourself talking to complete strangers like you're at a family reunion.” The man shrugs, not a single bit self-conscious. “I'm just trying to call it straight. You'll probably hate it for a day, but you'd grow to love it in a year.”

Trent considers the man’s words. Lasso clearly brought that warmth, that friendliness, and the sense of family over to Richmond. It took time for the players to warm up to him, to understand his motivation, but once they did, they were ready to go into battle for him. It’s why they are now piled on top of their laughing couch—and the captain who is loudly threatening bodily harm to everyone who doesn't get off him in the next three seconds—while the news crew looks on in equal amounts bafflement and amusement.

Trent thanks the coach for his time and rejoins the hectic chaos that is AFC Richmond on tour.

*

It’s late afternoon when they find themselves on the road back to Kansas City. They're all tired from the sun and still slightly high on the delicious homecooked meals prepared by Lasso’s Wichita fan club.

At a rest stop, Trent stands outside and watches the clouds gathering far out on the horizon. He has to admit there is a certain appeal to the intimidating environment. The openness of the plains has a sweep to it, a grandeur. Far off to the west, the clouds are the kind of unsettling blue that makes him immediately think of Shelley’s little alert radio and that perhaps he should go find him to see if there’s been an update. Before he can do so, he’s joined by a man who could be anywhere from forty to sixty, and definitely has the wisdom of the age on the upper end of that spectrum. He immediately deduces the nature of Trent’s anxiety.

“Don't worry too much,” the man says, amused. “Tornados are different than other disasters. Earthquakes, hurricanes, wildfires, all come tearing into town screaming ‘I'ma fuck everything up!’ Tornados just sit up there in the sky, thinking, ‘Hmmm. I guess I'll pick that guy and ruin his day.’ They’ll likely ignore you.”

And then, before Trent can think of something to say, the stranger disappears behind the corner, quick enough for Trent to reconsider his earlier hypothesis about plains-induced hallucinations.

McAdoo and Hughes burst through the door on his left, bringing with them the usual stream of idle chatter. Behind them, Coach Shelley is laughing with Obisanya about something and not lecturing him on radio frequencies and shelters, so at least that means there is no tornado danger for now.

Coach Beard herds the players quickly and efficiently, and they’re back on the road.

*

They arrive in Kansas City just in time for dinner. Lasso announces they have no more obligations for the rest of the day, and the players disperse in the blink of an eye, before their coach can change his mind.

Lasso insists on taking Trent out to one of his favorite local restaurants, claiming it’s tradition. Trent hardly sees how one shared meal counts as tradition, but he still accepts the invitation. He’d love to get Lasso’s take on the Richmond’s great American adventure so far. Not to mention, last he’s spoken to Marcus and Lloyd, they were talking about going to some cheese tasting event. At least now Trent has a good excuse.

Lasso takes Trent to a restaurant downtown, where they share a pleasant meal during which Lasso shares a few memories of growing up in the city. It’s still too hot outside. He asks Lasso how people here can stand it. Lasso simply laughs and brings up a colorful quote about Kansas City summer weather, allegedly citing a Japanese baseball legend. It feels like Lasso is having him on, yet Trent has no choice but to reluctantly believe him. 

Afterwards, they decide to walk over to a nearby bar where AFC Richmond has set up camp, according to a text Lasso received during dessert. It’s still not fully dark outside, but the city is coming alive. Music plays from one of the restaurants further down the street—a live band, it sounds like.

The bar is loud and crowded and distinctly American—and currently occupied by British forces. On their way in, they pass Montlaur, who’s pacing by the door, on his phone, arguing—Trent assumes, but for all he knows it could just as easily be a pleasant conversation with his mother—in quick-fire French.

McAdoo and Hughes are teaching a group of amused middle-aged men the most important Richmond chants. One of them has got a Richmond scarf around his neck—clearly McAdoo and Hughes have set out to spread Richmond cheer tonight.

The goalkeepers are in one of the booths, sipping their beers, unfazed by the drunken commotion. 

At the bar, Trent meets a group of thirty-something locals who assure him they have apocalypse weather only half a dozen or so times a year, which is still half a dozen times too many, if you ask Trent. Tornadoes, tropical-level humidity, hail, snow… It’s a lot, and it makes him appreciate the dreary grey days of English weather.

The group teaches Trent how to act when the tornado sirens go off. It’s advice that can be boiled down to _crack a beer, go on the porch, and if the news interviews you, it’s pronounced “ternader.”_ Trent won’t be sharing that wisdom with Shelley; the poor man would be dismayed by the irresponsible behavior. Not that Shelley is engaging in particularly responsible behavior himself at the moment, if the way he’s loudly singing _Mr Brightside_ arm in arm with an Australian tourist is any indication. Trent thanks the group and leaves them to it as they reenact the mentioned interviews in an accent so incomprehensible they may as well be speaking French.

By the time Trent is ready to call it a night, the coaches have already made their retreat, and the players are ready to take the party over to a nearby club recommended to them by Shelley’s new Australian friend. Kent is shaking his head at the state of his younger teammates, but still takes care of them as if they’re his mischievous children, wrangling them with expertise that only comes from experience. He stops an enthusiastic Rojas from walking right into the traffic, and tasks O’Brien and Zoreaux with carrying McAdoo, taking over from poor Hughes, who was seriously sweating under his friend’s weight, yet still babbling on like a toddler who hasn’t _quite_ learned to form coherent sentences. McAdoo is unfazed by all the handling, his expression serene as he treats them to a soft, soulful rendition of _Richmond Til We Die_.

“Got your hands full, don’t you?” Trent asks the Richmond captain, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Kent zeroes in on him, eyes narrowed. “And let me guess, you’re gonna be of no help.”

Trent shrugs, already taking his pen out. “Think of me as a wildlife documentary filmmaker. Here to observe and document, not intervene in the nature’s process.” 

Roy glares at him, then herds the team away, shaking his head and muttering under his breath about baby penguin murderers.

Trent heads back to the hotel with a smile on his face and _Richmond Til We Die_ stuck in his head.

*

In the morning, hotel hallways are empty and silent. Trent imagines most players are sleeping off their hangovers. The dreaded itinerary has blessed them this morning: no places to be or things to do for anyone except Coach Lasso and Coach Beard, who are going to be interviewed on several local morning shows.

Trent uses this time to explore Kansas City, both-Kansas-and-Missouri, on his own. He goes out into the already unpleasantly heated city. He wanders the streets in the morning daylight, gets breakfast at a busy diner and ventures into a small handicrafts shop, where he finds a beautiful intricate sunflower pin that his wife is going to love, a handmade toy for his daughter, and a couple of local delicacies for his parents.

By the time he comes back to the hotel, the sun is high in the sky and it’s unbearably hot and sticky outside. 

They gather once more in the blissfully airconditioned hotel lobby. McAdoo is sporting a T-shirt two sizes too big with a cartoon dog and the message _Toto Rules!_ underneath. O’Brien is sunburned, his nose and cheeks about the same shade of pink as Montlaur’s shorts. Montlaur is lounging on one of the sofas, eating ice-cream. Next to him, Bumberbatch sways in place, looking like he still hasn’t fully woken up. With a roll of his eyes, Kent grabs him by the back of his shirt and holds him upright while the coaches go over the itinerary for the day.

Even Coach Shelley is showing signs of an ill-informed drunken night out. At least it must be taking his mind off the tornadoes.

They’re off to the Sporting Kansas City’s stadium today, to meet with the club's representatives and have a training session in the afternoon.

When he is forced to step back outside, Trent thinks he is going to catch fire. McAdoo walks out and immediately does an U-turn, is stopped by Coach Beard who ushers him back outside, looking as disgusted by the weather as they all are at least. It makes one long for the familiar, comforting grey clouds back home.

It’s become even hotter somehow, as impossible as that seems. Worse even than the heat, the humidity is so suffocating Trent feels like he's swimming down the block to the coach. All in all, not an experience he would recommend.

It’s a short ride to the Sporting Kansas City’s stadium, where they’re welcomed by the club’s representatives and the manager. 

The Richmond medical team keeps handing out water bottles like they’re Red Cross volunteers heading up relief efforts in the wake of a natural disaster. They keep reminding everyone to drink more than they'd think they need since they're not used to this kind of weather. No encouragement is needed. 

Lasso is sweating as much as anyone, yet somehow still remains insufferably chipper, oohing and aahing at all the right times as they’re led on a tour of the stadium. The situation is dire. O’Brien is red all over, and even more sunburned despite the hat that Zoreaux stuck on top of his head before they even left the hotel. McAdoo empties a whole water bottle over his own head and look no different; he was already so drenched in sweat.

From somewhere behind him comes a muffled exchange Trent agrees with wholeheartedly.

“Mate, the heat is melting my brain.”

“Fucking sun is a right twat.”

The situation is only marginally better in the afternoon when the players gather on the pitch for the training session before the big match tomorrow. The humidity is so awful they may as well be playing water polo. 

Sporting Park, officially Children’s Mercy Park, is a newly-built, decent-sized stadium that Trent was pleasantly surprised to learn gets regularly sold out. Up in the stands, dozens of kids in Sporting kits have turned up to watching them train, and the second Lasso declares the session over they descend onto the pitch for a chance to meet the players and kick a ball with them. 

Kent immediately adopts a group of them and has them lined up to practice long shots at one goal. On the other end of the pitch, O’Brien and Zoreaux are facing formidable ten-year-old penalty takers while Montlaur shouts mostly helpful pointers from the edges of the box. Rojas is entertaining a wide-eyed crowd with tricks. Hughes has already created personalized handshakes with a couple of the kids.

Trent heads inside and joins Marcus and Lloyd, who have managed to corner the Sporting manager outside the dressing room, then wanders the long hallways in search of members of the club staff for a more grounded point of view. 

He’s on his way back to rejoin the Richmond contingent when he hears two familiar voices filtering into the hallway from around the corner up ahead. He stops and takes out his pen, just in case.

Lasso’s drawl comes first. “A little birdy told me you met with a certain English _football_ legend today. You know, the one who just so happens to be the owner of a brand new MLS club.”

Trent smiles to himself; it’s good to hear Lasso is still putting unnecessary emphasis on the name of the sport he’s been coaching for a year now, as if he’s trying to making sure everyone notices that he’s learned to use the correct word.

“That little birdy’s going to wind up dead,” comes Kent’s characteristically gruff response. 

“Come on now, this is big news. You ever need help putting together a pros and cons list, you know who to call.”

“We’ll see,” Kent says, deliberately non-committal, but Trent is already getting started on the story in his mind, coming up with a list of possible sources to contact. He knows a non-answer when he hears one.

*

The matchday dawns bright and warm, players talking quietly among themselves over breakfast, clearly focused on the match ahead. Later, when they make their way to the stadium, it becomes clear that even the weather has calmed down ever so slightly.

Other clubs get the honor of hosting the European greats and the hordes of their American fans, but Sporting Kansas City gets the newly relegated Richmond. To the home team’s credit, they all seem genuinely excited to meet the Richmond players—both the younger players who are dreaming of playing in the Premier League one day, and the older ones who’ve already made their mark there.

Trent spends some time down by the pitch, jotting down Lasso’s and Coach Beard’s final thoughts before the match—the former as lengthy as the latter are concise. On the pitch, during warm-up, Zoreaux is explaining the wonders of MLS to his teammates and fielding questions from the American who should be the one providing the answers—his manager. 

Trent ends up watching the match from a seat next to Keeley Jones of all people. He learns she flew in this morning for reasons she won’t disclose, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess those have to do with a certain someone currently dispossessing a Sporting player on the pitch. Despite her admission that she’s only recently started caring about football, she provides colorful and oftentimes insightful commentary to the whole row. More than once, Trent sees Lloyd writing down some of her more inspired insults with a chuckle.

All in all, it’s a largely uneventful ninety-two minutes. The home team puts up an admirable fight, but ultimately Richmond’s Premier League experience proves to be too much for the Kansas-and-or-Missouri side. The players linger on the pitch after the final whistle, talking amongst themselves, exchanging shirts, slowly making their way into the tunnel. Miss Jones slips away quietly while Trent is making dinner plans with Marcus and Lloyd.

Their time in America is coming to an end.

*

The next day’s ride to the airport is marked by Kent’s conspicuous absence. Marcus and Lloyd are brainstorming possible reasons behind it. Trent doesn’t have to—he just so happened to be in the hotel lobby this morning, getting the hotel staff’s thoughts on the AFC Richmond’s stay, when Kent and Miss Jones came out of the elevator with all of their luggage. Trent—surreptitiously, if he says so himself—hid behind a large fake potted plant and watched the pair check out, even overheard them discussing the fastest route to the airport with the receptionist. 

If he had to take a guess, they are most likely already on their way to visit Kent’s potential future club. 

A few rows behind Trent, Montlaur is all but pulling out his hair in frustration, once again talking rapidly in French. Marcus follows Trent’s gaze to the Frenchman and explains with an amused smile, “On the phone with his agent again, something about a L’Oreal shampoo commercial.”

Well, that’s another mystery solved.

Trent catches up with Lasso as they prepare to board the plane, asks him about the absence of the captain. As expected, Lasso dodges the question with the subtlety of American in-game advertising and launches into a non-related story about his first time on a plane, one that involves a poodle and a divorcee on cocaine. It’s so unbelievable it must be true.

As they board the plane, Trent glances around, noting the tired but contented faces. From Lasso’s tireless enthusiasm and the staff taking care of everyone to the AFC Richmond scarf McAdoo and Hughes place around the laughing pilot’s shoulders, everyone is in good spirits after a job well done.

A lot of change in the air—new league, new players, a captain on his way out—but some things seem to be set in stone. The unwavering support, stubborn pride, and the overwhelming love for the club. There are challenges ahead, and who knows how the story will end, but of one thing Trent has been made certain:

It will take much more than relegation to bring AFC Richmond down.

**Author's Note:**

> my kansas natives ocs are quoting real kansas natives’ comments i found on wichita and kansas city subreddits, because i’m a clueless european who before setting out to write this fic knew basically nothing about kansas(-and-or-missouri). i now know more weirdly specific things about the state than i ever expected to, and yet i probably still got things wrong. my apologies. (i’m not british either, so please forgive my mistakes on that front as well.) but hey, at least now if i ever find myself in the sunflower state, i’m prepared in case of a tornado. (no i’m not, those look fucking terrifying.)
> 
> shoutout to [olivier giroud's iconic coral trousers](https://wojshere.tumblr.com/post/121603645638/worst-outfit) and to treewishes for a wonderful prompt. hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it :)


End file.
